


Misunderstandings

by Julian_Albert



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, allenbert - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 21:08:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9787079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julian_Albert/pseuds/Julian_Albert
Summary: Barry has been having a rough week, and sleep deprivation drives him so say some things about his coworker that he doesn't mean, but that doesn't mean that Julian Albert isn't hurt when he accidentally overhears him. It does mean, however, that Joe West is going to have a much tougher week than he thought he would have as he tries to mend hurt feelings and fix burned bridges.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so thirsty please comment

 

Joe could tell, just glancing his sons face, that Barry was having one of his off days. He could read it in the furrow of his brow, the flush in his cheeks, and the curl and uncurl of his fist; a sign he was feeling impatient or agitated. Well, that and the fact that there was a coffee stain that ran from the center of his chest all the way down to the bottom of his shirt. The fact that the shirt was white didn't help to hide it.

  
"That's a new look for you, Barr. Changing up your style on us? I was getting so used to hoodies and sneakers." He smirked, hoping the gentle teasing would help to relax the boy. Barry didn't seem to hear him, glancing nervously up the stairs as if contemplating whether he should go up. Immediately, Joe knew what was troubling him and sighed, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder to ensure he got Barrys attention, "I know it's been tough for you, dealing with this new timeline and worrying about Caitlin's powers, but you're putting unnecessary stress on yourself if you're worrying about Julian now, too. So you're a little late, that's nothing new, run home and change your shirt, it will barely make a difference. You know he'll be pissed off either way. How did you even manage a stain like that?"

  
Almost automatically, Barry explained, "I noticed I was about to be late, so I ran, straight into stale coffee that someone dumped out their car window."

  
"You don't even know whose coffee it is?" Joe asked, a slight smile twitching on his face, "Go change, and be quick about it."  
Barry studied him a moment before giving in with a sigh, and Joe barely felt him dash out from under his arm before he was back with a new shirt, his hair wind-swept but his face just as pinched as it had been when he had first come through the doors. Barry smiled apologetically, and explained, mussing his hair further as he rubbed the back of his neck, "Sorry, it's just been a difficult few days, and I'm really not up to dealing with Julian today. With everything going on with Caitlin...I just really want to be there for her, you know? I mean, it's my fault she's dealing with these powers at all, I feel bad ducking out all the time. When I got my speed, I had someone there to teach me how to use it, but with her...she's alone."

  
"Hey, listen to me," Joe shook his head, his stomach curling as he read the guilt in his sons face, "Caitlin is not alone; she's got all of us here to support her, and we will figure this out in time. We always do. Right now, you just need to focus on your job; rumor has it that Singh has taken note of your tardiness, and with the nagging from Julian, it's only a matter of time before he does something about it. You've got to stay in his good books, Barr, or your life is only going to be more difficult than it already is."

  
"Yeah, well, it's hard to do right by Julian, so I may as well not try." Barry shook his head, looking exhausted. Before Joe could respond, Barry hitched his bag up higher on his shoulder, gave a tight smile, and headed towards the stairs to get to the labs.  
Just before he disappeared from view, Joe called after him, feeling he had to try at least once more, "Barry!"

  
Barry stopped and turned, an eyebrow quirked in question, and Joe continued, doing his best to smile encouragingly, "If you go in there expecting to be defeated, you've already lost the battle. Nobody I know could possibly hate Barry Allen. Chin up."  
He felt his chest swell with pride when he saw the smile tugging at Barrys lips, despite his best efforts to keep it at bay. Confident that he had aided him in avoiding disaster with Julian, Joe moved on to his desk, sinking slightly as he noticed the pile of paperwork he had left last night had doubled in size already. He remembered what he told Barry, and forced a smile as he set to work.

The smile didn't last long, and apparently neither did Barry's, as Captain Singh cornered him as he came down the stairs at half past noon for lunch. Joe could already sense trouble, and moved closer to the front desk to listen in, though it wasn't difficult with how their voices were raised, Barry arguing heatedly, "It was barely ten minutes! You can't really be taking his side on this?"

  
"I'm sorry, but I've told you before that your tardiness is an issue. Julian is right; it reflects badly on the department and it sends a bad message to other employees if I keep letting you get away with it. I'm your boss, I can't play favorites, and letting it go on for this long is simply unprofessional. It's just a warning, Allen, but if you come to work late again I will have no choice but to suspend you."

  
"So, what is this, I'm on probation now?"

  
"Just until the end of the month unless it becomes a problem again. I can overlook your being late to crime scenes because or your lack of a car, but showing up late every day to your job is not something i should have let slide for so long. I know the central city busses are more than capable of getting you here on time, and I'm sure you could find a coworker that is willing to give you a lift. I can't keep playing babysitter, it's time I start holding my employees accountable for what they do. Only two weeks, and then we can talk about it again; show me you can do this small thing for me."

  
Barry didn't answer, his jaw clenched, and Captain Singh sighed, turning on his heel and stalking towards his office, waving another officer to follow him, likely to discuss a shady arrest that had been made an hour ago. Joe waited for Barry to walk to him, and wordlessly followed him away from the desk and towards the center of the floor, so that they stood on the CCPD crest that was emblazoned on the linoleum floor.

  
"That didn't seem so bad, you can just get a ride with me from now on. I know I show up an hour earlier than you do, but if thats what it takes to get you off the hook, I think it's our best plan. It's really--"

  
"You didn't hear all of it. You know, I am so sick of Julian's constant judgement. I was yelled at over being disorganized, when, excuse me, you try and maintain a perfect workspace when you're constantly being called out to save someone or fight some meta. The worst part, you know, is that Julian just sat there, all smug like he'd won something. I could tell he was loving every minute of it; he painted it for Singh where he looks like a prince, and I look like some half-wit delinquent that doesn't know how to do his job, when both of us know that's not true." Barry said breathlessly, a manic edge coloring his voice.

  
Joe knew a breakdown when he saw one, and this one was fueled by exhaustion, fear, frustration, and embarrassment from being called out by his boss. It was time for damage control; to step in and stop Barry from completely imploding and making things worse on himself--his breakdowns were always followed by guilt, as if Barry didn't think he deserved to feel how he did; as if he held himself to a different standard than everyone else, and didn't know how to let himself feel helpless. Barry was on a roll, though, and Joe wasn't sure he could stop him if he tried, now that he was getting everything off of his chest.  
"He thinks he's so proper, and he knows best, but I'm not the one that nearly shot a kid, am I? He's conveniently forgetting that when he complains to Singh, I've noticed. Always acting so smug, with his little digs, and his comments, and the dirty looks he gives me--even when I'm not looking, I can feel when he's glaring at me."

  
"Barry," Joe tried to interrupt, knowing that while Barry may not like the guy, he wouldn't typically be so harsh, and the fact that he was hitting so low proved he was suffering more than he let on.

  
"You know," Barry spat, "It's almost like Julian thinks you're all playing favorites. Bet he never considered that it's just that nobody can stand him, and he shouldn't be surprised; even his parents don't want him around. I get it, really; I hate him so much I would have him move countries too, if I could. I heard a rumor that his sister offed herself, and now I can understand why, honestly. If I was related to him, I would too."

  
"Barry, stop, are you hearing yourself? Get a hold on yourself. Some of this is on you, too. If you could just humor him and try to be on time, and clean up a little, maybe you two could work it out and--"

  
It spoke volumes of his mental state that Barry wasn't phased, and didn't slow his tirade, complaining in earnest, his eyes wide and almost appearing spooked, "I've tried being friendly with him; it doesn't work. It's no wonder he has no friends; nobody can stand being around him. I will tear my hair out before I give that smarmy ass a chance." Barry said, breathing hard as he came to a stop. He didn't say anything for several seconds, catching his breath, and seemed to suddenly register where he was, blinking in surprise at himself as he stood to his full height, looking bewildered at Joe, and then wincing at the incredulous expression he was being faced with.

  
Joe waited patiently, not sure what he should say, and decided to let Barry decide what to do about what had just happened. It took several minutes before Barry said, color rising in his face, "I don't know where that came from. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have freaked out, it's not even a big deal, I'll just get here early from now on. No problem. I'll..."

  
He trailed off and Joe shook his head, patting Barry's arm and telling him sympathetically, "That was your exhaustion speaking, not you. I get it. Go home and catch up on sleep. Try not to stress. I'll tell Singh that you got food poisoning, and had no choice but to head home. I'll text you when I get off to see how you feel."

  
"Joe, I--"

  
"Go. You've earned an afternoon of peace. Besides, you'll give Julian a break from you, and maybe it will put him in better spirits. You can try again tomorrow."

  
Barry snorted, but knew better than to say anything when he saw the stern look on his fathers face, and headed gratefully out the front doors, deciding to walk home, too tired to run. The fresh air felt nice, and helped clear his head. He couldn't help feeling maybe he was worrying too much...and he knew from the sour weight in his chest that the things he had said about Julian were way out of line. He could see why he thought Singh was playing favorites, honestly, if he made himself think about it from the others point of view, and the things he had brought up about the mans family--personal things; things Julian had confided in Barry in a moment of vulnerability. The guilt would swallow him whole if Julian knew he'd said that, especially since he didn't mean a word of it. He was looking for a reason to finally let out his pent up frustration, and his grumpy work partner had provided him with the easiest target. He slept uneasily when he finally did get to bed. 

*********

 

Singh hardly seemed to mind that Barry had disappeared when Joe told him he was sick after he came back from his lunch break. He caught him as he was coming down the stairs to tell him, and instead of being suspicious he appeared to be concerned, his mouth twisting into a frown as he said, "I hope it's nothing going around. Albert--Julian, that is, not the Albert working in records--seemed out of sorts, too. You keep away from them if they start running fevers, Detective West, I can't afford to have a shortage of staff with all these metas cropping up." 

  
Joe nodded, relieved that Barry hadn't been accused of skipping work for something trivial, but he couldn't help feeling suspicious that Julian was feeling under the weather so suddenly. The thought that there was something going on chewed steadily at the back of Joes thoughts as he reluctantly headed back to his desk, as did thoughts about Barry and the stress he as under, and ultimately they kept his mind so occupied that he was the last officer left in the building that wasn't on late shift. Most of the lights were dim by the time he left, as it was a slow night and most of the day shift had finished what little work needed to be done, leaving a lazy atmosphere for the night shift. Joe would have finished too if he wasn't so distracted, and headed out with a lazy wave to his fellow officers, who sent him off with a chorus of "Goodnight"'s.

  
He was nearly out the door when he saw that the light was still on in the upstairs office. Julian should have headed home hours ago, and it wasn't like him to leave the light on. Against his better judgement, Joe trudged up the stairs, apprehension coiling in his chest.

  
He ducked his head into the office, and miraculously found it empty. He reached for the switch to turn out the lights, but a sound from the corner of the room stopped him; a soft snuffling sound, like someone trying very hard not to be heard. He peered around a file case and his heart sank. The office wasn't empty after all. Julian was hunched over a book about toxic plants and a stack of paperwork about blood samples, and didn't appear to notice that he wasn't alone. Joe knew he should have left the young man on his own, seeng that he was upset; eyes rimmed and red, tear streaks dry but visible on his cheeks, but, something Barry said that afternoon stuck with him. He was right when he said Julian didn't have any friends in Central City; Joe hadn't seen him getting close to anyone, and he knew what loneliness could do to a person; he remembered how hard it was when Iris's mom first left, but even then he had had the kids to distract him from the pain of feeling utterly alone and abandon. It wasn't a feeling he liked to revisit, and he could only guess Julian had it much harder, with nobody to talk to, so he stamped out the voice objecting in his head, and awkwardly cleared his throat.

  
Julian jerked in place and slammed his book closed, swiveling around in his chair in alarm, hand already rising to his face to scrub off the evidence that he had been crying. He looked so lost that Joe felt his chest tighten sympathetically, and he wordlessly moved a spare chair closer to the man, lowering himself into it and asking as gently as he could manage, "Do you want to talk about it?"

  
"No." Julian said hoarsely, not unexpectedly. Joe didn't expect him to, at least not immediately, and nodded, pretending to look at the blood work papers instead as Julian quickly wiped at his eyes. Apparently, having company only made him more upset.

  
Joe gave him another minute to compose himself before he turned back towards him and started in again, trying to sound casual, "'Captain Singh said you weren't feeling your best. You know, he would understand if you took the day off. Barry felt sick too, it's why he never came back, but I assume you already knew that."

  
"Yeah?" Julian asked, with a heartbroken look that he tried and failed to disguise as a sneer, "Sure he didn't just off himself? You know; the prefered method of dealing with me, according to him and, apparently, my sister as well?"

Something cold dropped in his stomach and he knew his face had just paled at least ten shades. Julian had heard them, and appeared to not only take the criticisms to heart, but to believe them himself, if the guarded look in his eyes said anything at all--and Joe knew it did. He didn't get to reflect on it long before the younger looked towards the floor, his cheeks pink in shame for his outburst, eyes wet and mouth wobbling wiht the threat of tears. Joes stomach sank, and he wanted nothing more than to gather the boy in his arms and assure him that none of what was said had any weight to it, but he didn't think it would help the situation; only wound the younger mans pride. Joe was getting very good at reading Julian Albert; he already knew that the man felt lonely, that he feared failure, and that he wanted nothing more than to prove himself worthy to someone; perhaps to Barry most of all, which is likely why the words hurt so much, especially if Barry didn't need to say them. Julian already believed them about himself anyways, and the overheard rant was just a cruel confirmation to his fears. 

  
Joe felt worse than he could ever remember feeling, and his throat flooded with the cold that occupied his gut as he remembered what he had noticed in Julian in the first months at CCPD; that he liked Barry. Nobody else may have noticed the crush Julian was harboring, but Joe West was no idiot, and he had grown to recognize expressions of adoration, no matter how deeply the owner tried to bury them. The expression was still there in Julians face, underneath the hurt layered over it, and Joe winced. He would have tried harder to stop Barry if he had thought there was a chance he would be overheard, especially by his co-worker, who was much more sensitive than he had let on. Julian had to understand that Barry didn't mean any of what he'd said; that his son didn't talk about people like that, and that he didn't ever intend to hurt his partner. He didn't know how to say that, exactly, so he instead sighed heavily and said, "It's late, let me walk you home. We can talk about what you heard on the way. Barry isn't--he isn't like that. He doesn't do that, or talk about people that way, and--"

  
"Well, don't I feel special." Julian scoffed, and Joe realized with horror that this only made it worse, and tears were welling in blue eyes all over again.

  
He hurried to continue, correcting, "And if he had any idea that you heard that, and that he hurt you, he would never forgive himself."

  
"Yes, well, we wouldn't want the golden boy to feel bad, would we?" Julian sneered, though Joe heard a sniffle that told more than his angry facade ever could.

  
"Julian--"

  
"It's Mr. Albert, it you don't mind, and, you know, I think I'll walk myself home, thanks." Julian snapped, and walked briskly away, gathering his jacket and his bag with a swollen-eyed glare that normally would have been impressive.  
Joe didn't protest, and left shortly after Julian disappeared out the front doors. He didn't know how to fix things, but he did know that Barry was stressed beyond his limits, and Julian was feeling rejected and unwanted. Maybe, he couldn't help hoping, they could help each other get through things.


	2. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry is feeling better, having gotten the anger out of his system, but now Julian isn't at work and he's got the strangest feeling in his stomach that something is off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, really, I'm so thirsty for comments, please write something.

The house was silent when Barry awoke in the upstairs bedroom, the window open, thin curtains stirring slowly in the early morning breeze. He felt more rested than he could remember feeling in weeks, and he took a moment to savor the feeling, breathing deeply against his pillow, which smelled oddly of lavendar. The realization that Joe had done laundry came to him slowly, but he was grateful for it, and when he rolled onto his back and sat up the bedsheets stuck to him from the thin layer of sweat he had generated sleeping. He glanced at the clock and frowned, registering that it was earlier than normal; 6:15. He couldn't help feeling disoriented; he had gotten home and fallen asleep shortly after two oclock the previous afternoon. It felt like he had been sleeping for days, and he suddenly wasn't sure if he had been. 

A quick look at his phone put his fears to bed; the date flashed at him reassuringly and he let his legs lead himm out of bed and to his dresser, where he took his time getting dressed for once instead of speeding through the process. Grey tee shirt, jeans, thin red jacket, matching sneakers, and a quick comb through his hair showed him practically ready to walk out the door, but he had a niggling sensation in the back of his mind that was intent on picking at him, and he didn't feel confident that leaving for work just yet was the best idea after all. It was almost as if he was forgetting something, but the previous day was a blur when he tried to remember it, so he figured he would talk to Joe over breakfast--which he usually skipped having at home in order to dash through Jitters and pick up a muffin. He was having an early morning, though, so he figured he would try and enjoy it--and relish in the look on Joe's face when he saw his son up and ready so soon. 

Joe was already up and at the kitchen table when Barry came down the stairs, and with a smirk and a surge of energy, he ran past his father, swiped his newspaper from his hands, and landed in the seat beside him, casually looking over the article he had been in the middle of reading. 

Joe didn't even look up, and sighed, shifting toast on his plate to tell him, "That wasn't funny the first time you did it, and it isn't funny now."

"Just a second, I'm almost finished." Barry grinned, and made a point of speed reading the paper before handing it back over, which usually got a smile out of the man, but today Joe just took it back from him with a lazy tug and folded it before it was being put aside, forgotten about. 

"I see you're in brighter spirits today." He began slowly, his expression unreadable and his fingers laced together on the tabletop. 

That srange feeling was back, and Barry got midway through asking him what he meant when the events of the day before came rushing back, and he was suddenly able to place why he felt so uneasy since waking. He groaned, and Joe was still looking at him with that undefinable expression, and he said, weight settling in his chest again, "Look, yesterday, that was...that was bad, I know, and I'm sorry for that. You guys have all been telling me that I need to stop pushing myself, and I should have listened. I can see that now. I'll really work on it--I mean it. In fact, I'll extend the olive branch, and I'll bring in coffee and scones for Julian; tell him I'll really try and be a better partner. I'll make it work; you'll see. Starting today."

"Actually, Barr, that's something I wanted to talk to you about--" Joe knew when he felt the rush of wind by his face and the newspaper was blown off the table and halfway across his living room that Barry had already sped off, blissfully unaware of what he was going to be facing when he got to work. His fongers went automatically to the bridge of his nose and he pinched forcefully to alleviate the headache that was Barry Allen. 

 

 

******

 

Barry had been halfway through the line at Jitters when a new idea struck him--something about his mood had him wanting to do more than just surprise his crotchety partner--and he turned to jog down the street to the donut shop instead. It would be funny, he thought, to bring breakfast in to the team, since almpst once a week one of them were fielding jokes about how cops love donuts. He was early, it would be like two surprises at once. 

When he walked in the door, he was rewarded for his efforts with Singh jogging over to lift one of the boxes out of his arms, which was lucky, because he had felt it beginning to slide from a street away and he was sure he would drop it soon if nobody helped him steady it. The captain was looking him over quizzically as he helped him settle the boxes on the nearest desk, and said, "Early is a good look on you, Allen. I take it our talk yesterday didn't put you off to me after all, then?"

"yeah--no, sorry, no, I was agreeing with you. Look, you were right, I have been letting you guys down lately, and I'm going to really try to be better about it and to be a part of the team. I thought I could say that there are no hard feelings with, well, you know...donuts."

Singh was staring at him like he'd never seen him before, and after a moment he shook himself and said, "You know, I really like this side of you, Allen. I could almost confuse you as being proffessional." 

Barry figured he could laugh at that, and felt a smile twitch on his lips as Singh patted his shoulder and walked past him to fetch napkins from the break room as the other officers began to take notice of the food and started to crowd closer. Barry didn't bother waiting, feeling lighter for having made a bit of progress, and picked a donut out of the box as he began chatting with a new cop with a large nose and suspiciously shiny black hair. 

By the time the food was nearly all finished, only a dozen donuts left in a crumpled pink box, Singh had made his way back to Barry, his smile less wide than it had been earlier, and he said slowly, as if trying to convey something very important with his eyes, "Allen--Barry--Why don't you invite Julian down too? I know how things are with you two, but it would be nice to at least let him know he's welcome. It's not easy, being the new guy, and we should make more of an effort to include him. He's had a tough time, a friendly face may make it easier on him." 

"No, yeah, absolutely. I didn't think--I'll go righht up there." Barry said, surprised with himself for forgetting the entire purpose he had had for getting food in the ofrst place. He was supposed to be trying to make peace with Julian, which, now that he was halfway up the stairs to their lab and nervously sucking leftover glaze off his thumb, felt much more daunting than it had when he was in Joe's kitchen. He cracked the door open, at a loss to why he felt so nervous to greet the man he had been sharing a lab with for months, and called quietly, trying not to startle him, "Julian. Hey, Julian, I brought donuts for everyone if you want to..."

He trailed off, frowning and looking around the room in bewilderment. From what he could tell, Julian hadn't even been in there yet. His computer was off, his paperwork was all neatly stacked on the corner of his desk, and his chair was facing the far wall, empty. The sick feeling was back, something dark and heavy pressing on his sternum as he tried again, just in case he missed something, "Julian?" 

He stayed stationary for another long moment, surveying the room, his instinct telling him something was wrong, even though everything appeared normal and untouched. Julian was just running a little behind, he was sure of it. It could happen to anyone. He was thinking of an excuse to make to Singh that would buy his partner another ten minutes to sneak in, when his captain startled him by flipping the lights on, brightening up the room more than the grey sunlight had been doing. He didn't look happy. His eyebrows were furrowed, and a frown marred his face as he locked eyes with Barry, whose heart skipped a beat. 

"Julian, he, uh, you just missed him. He's in the bathroom, wasn't really hungry, he just--"

"I admire that you're trying to defend him, but I know a lie when I see one."

"It's not a lie." Barry lied unconvincingly, trying to prop himself casually against his desk, though he couldn't figure out just what to do with his arms, and Singh was looking at him in a way that made his insides freeze up unhelpfully. 

"Barry, yes it is. I just got off the phone with him; he's feeling under the weather and he's not coming in today."

"Oh." Bary said, not sure what to do now that he was caught, and tried to look as though he was sorry, but he had only just worked out how to look innocent, and his face felt somewhere caught between the two. luckily, he noticed that the captain had slipped a jacket on, and he was able to distract from being reprimanded by asking him, "Are you going somewhere?"

"Yes, well, like I said, Julian has had a rough time since he moved here, and he sounded pretty sick on the phone, so I'm just gonna take a squad car out and check up on him; make sure he's getting himself taken care of."

"That's...nice...of you. Don't you think one of his friends has stopped by to check on him, though?" Barry asked, confused, and immediately felt bad for asking. Singh was giving him that look that he gave to criminals that he thought were particularly slow, and suddenly he understood the silent message he was being given. Julian didn't have any friends in the city. It felt wrong to draw attention to it, somehow, and his stomach tightened with guilt that he hadn't picked up on it before. There was a long, awkward silence before Singh cleared his throat and spoke again. 

"I know it seems out of character, but part of my job is to make sure everyone in my city is being looked out for, and if he hasn't got anyone, then, well, that's my job, isn't it? Besides, I think I probably know him best out of anyone here."

Barry nodded, and then blurted without meaning to, "What if I went to see him?"

Singh stopped in the doorway, and studied Barry critically, before he stepped back into the room and asked, as if he couldn't quite believe what he had just heard, "You want to go and check up on him? We're thinking about the same Julian Albert, aren't we? British, sarcastic, not a morning person? That Julian Albert?" 

"Err...yes?" Barry said, realizing how strange it sounded, and wondering why he had offered in the ofrst place, but saw the hesitation forming on his boss's face and bolstered his argument quickly, "It was a slow day yesterday, I don't have much paperwork to do, it'll be quick. I'll pop in, make sure he isn't dying, and then I'll be out of his hair. I'll--I'll bring soup. Sickness and soup go together, and he probably won't even yell at me too loudly if he's really under the weather." 

Singh snorted, the first sign of amusement he had shown since he came upstairs, and said with a warm smile, "If he's doing badly, you make sure he see's a doctor, I don't care how stubborn he's being--and don't argue with him. I know it's difficult--he's told me that your personalities don't mesh enough times that it's permanently ingrained on my mind at this point--but try not to snap at him if he gets testy, and I want all of your paperwork done before you clock out today, Allen. This is not a field trip. Keep your phone on in case you're needed."

"Yes, sir. I will be on my best behavior," Barry assured him, and waited until Singh left him Julians address and went back down the stairs to add, "even if he's not." 

He didn't know why he opted to do this, but something in his gut told him he needed to. 

 


	3. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a bit of Julians perspective as he gets home the night he overhears everything, and the whirlwind of emotions he's caught in the middle of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment. Please, I'm dying of thirst.

 

 

Julian didn't know what to do. His chest felt so swollen he thought it would burst, and he couldn't catch his breath no matter what he did, hands shaking as he shut his apartment door and slid down the wall and onto the floor. He had tried to keep it hidden; to keep from letting on that Barrys words or anybody else's had the capability of cutting him open, but he had lost his composure. He couldn't believe it; he had let Joe--a near stranger--get a glimpse of the part of himself he always kept hidden, and now Barry was going to find out. He was going to know that Julian heard, and that he had gotten upset, and he was going to piece it all together that Julian wasn't at all who he was trying to be, and everything would be ruined. He had spent years learning to disguise his weaknesses, and in the span of a day his efforts had gone to waste.   
  
What was he going to say? He already hated Julian, now he was going to think he was weak too. He cursed Joe West in his head; one look from the man and all Julian could think about was his father, and how he would be so disappointed that Julian couldn't hold it together like his sister could. She had always been stronger than him. If she was alive--but he couldn't think that way. Remembering her still burned a hole in his chest, and he didn't think he could manage another one when he already felt like he was coming apart at the seams.

He was climbing blindly off the floor, his eyes so flooded he couldn't see straight, and be the time his vision cleared he was standing in his bathroom, some sour emotion sitting in his throat. He was standing in front of the mirror, his ears roaring, and his cheeks damp, but he couldn't give his reflection a real look over; he was too busy staring into his hand, where something small and metal was lying against his palm, flat and sharp. His breath hitched, and he couldn't take his eyes off it. He hadn't come so close to hurting himself since a year after his sister died, and looking at the razor in his hand sent a sick longing into his gut, and he let it fall against his wrist on instinct, between ancient pink scars that never went away, and then he held it there.

His arms felt like lead, and he stared and stared at the contrast the silver made against the soft part of his wrist, but he couldn't get himself to do anything but rest it there. HE pressed a little harder, that savage ache telling him that he could numb the pain if he would just let the blade slide. It would be quick and smooth and easy. Every relapse was. But this time felt different. He hadn't ever lasted so long before, and the last time he did this played back in his mind. It was Emma's birthday, the first after she had died, and he would have liked to have said the knife slipped, but he knew better than that. He had a scar that ran from wrist to elbow that could prove his true intentions. He remembered very little after he made the cut, deep and deliberate, and he woke up in a hospital room, with his father standing over him, eyes as cold as ever, his thin mouth twisted up like he had bitten his tongue, but Julian knew it was disappointment. The man couldn't even be bothered to pretend to care, and had spat with so little emotion it shook Julian to his core, "I should have known. You always had to do everything your sister did. At least, when you attempt suicide, you don't try to take the car with you. Although, if you had driven into a lake like she did, I dare say you would have been successful in your attempt."

He had told Julian that he knew he was weak; that he wouldn't bother to show up the next time he inevitably tried to off himself, and Julian had promised himself, sitting in his hospital bed, tethered to an IV pole, that he would prove his father wrong. He would go into the world and make something of himself; he would recover, and he would show the world that he was worth more than his father had ever made him feel.

The memory shook him, and he dropped the razor as if it burned him, nearly deafened by the clatter of metal in the sink. He couldn't believe he had almost forgotten; had almost thrown his progress in the garbage. That really did burn him. But he had resisted. So, he opened the drawer to his left and picked up the marker he kept there, uncapping it and turning to the sticky note he left on the mirror, so that he could scratch out another tally where he marked how many days he had managed to stay clean. He had already filled twenty notes with tallies, and kept them up in the bathroom, watching the numbers grow each day as a way to brace himself for what was to come.

He could still feel the ache of Allen's words eating at his lungs like acid, and the threat of tears still seared the backs of his eyes, but he wouldn't let the pain wash away his resolve. He couldn't. If he let himself pick up the razor again, he didn't know if he would be strong enough to put it down. So he stepped back, ignoring the comfort of silver glinting in the sink under his cheap lightbulbs, and retreated to his room and into bed, where he couldn't stop his tears from overflowing in earnest when he let the comments replay themselves in his mind. That was one type of abuse he couldn't stop.

*********

When he woke up the next morning, his face felt sore and a headache was blossoming in his temples. He always got one after he cried, and he forced himself out of bed with a grunt, onto to feel a sadness so deep it seared into his chest when he saw his cat, Detective, staring at him from the bed he had made her in the corner of his rooms. Detective had been Emma's cat, and every time he looked at her he felt the hole she had left him rip open a fraction more. He supposed the cats name suited her; when she wasn't sleeping or eating, she was sitting patiently at the door, head cocked, waiting for her owner to return to her. Sometimes, Julian caught himself waiting as well, and nothing hurt quite as much as realizing she would never come through the door again. Oh god, he was going to cry again. He could feel it, the hot tingling behind his eyes that always came before lost composure.

"Stop it. It's been over a year, stop it. You're fine." He hissed to himself, and tore his gaze away from the cat. It didn't help. He tried to stare out the window and force his mind to go blank, but soon the skyline blurred away completely, and his breathing was wet and desperate as he said sharply, "You're fine, stop crying, you're--"

He wasn't fine. He could hear his father, and Barry, and every ghost he had ever had ringing in his head, their voices mixing and trading lines and slicing him up from the inside out and before he could even register what he was doing he was out of bed and had padded into the kitchen to pluck the phone off the hook, dialing Captain Singhs number with fingers that shook and eyes that swam. His voice cut through almsot immediately as he pressed the telephone to his ear, and he heard his boss say, in a cheerier tone than he had heard in ages, "Central City Police Department, Captain Singh speaking. Who's calling?"

"It's, uh--"

"Albert, is that you? I thought you were upstairs, I just sent Allen to find you. Are you feeling alright? You sound a little off."

Julian couldn't think of what he wanted to say. There was a lump in his throat the size of a quarter and his airway felt smaller than a pinhole and his vision was going hazy again and he knew he was about to break down again, and he couldn't stand for his boss to think he was crying, but he didn't know how to stop himself and suddenly he wasn't just crying, he was sobbing, and it was loud and messy, and the other line had gone silent, and his cheeks were burning, and he was trying desperately to make himself stop but he just couldn't.

"Julian? Hey, calm down, just try and breathe. Slowly, alright? I'm right here. I'll talk you through it, just listen to my voice, alright?"

It felt like it took ages, but could only have been a few minutes, before Julian was able to get some semblance of control, and finally told Singh, shaking and mortified, "I'm sorry, I was just--"

"No, don't apologize, I get it. You've been really overworked lately, and I'd be lying if I didn't think something was wrong yesterday. I know you've got a lot going on, so I'm going to ask that you take the day off, and I'll come check up on you when I get a chance."

Julian felt his face burn, and said quickly, with a voice that barely sounded like his own, "No, it's fine, you don't have to--"

"Julian, I can tell when something is wrong. I want you to drink a lot of water, play some nice music, relax, eat something, and try not to think about whatever it is that's got you so worked up." Singh said, and the sincerity in his voice had a new warmth bubbling in his chest. There was a pause, and Singh said slowly, more softly than before, "You're not thinking of hurting yourself, are you? I can take a car over if--"

"No. No, I'm not--I don't--no. No, you don't have to do that. I'm okay, honestly." Julian said, and felt absolutely floored that Singh had thought to ask. It had been in his records that he had a history of self-harm, and they had only talked about it once, when he had first been hired, but neither had ever mentioned it again after the first three months, when Singh had finally stopped checking Julians wrists and accepted that he was doing better and wouldn't be hurting himself. Sometimes he caught himself wishing he still checked up on him, if only because it meant someone in the world cared what happened to him, but he shook the thought away and realized he had been tuning out the sound of his bosses voice in his ear.

"--and if you need more than a day to start feeling back to normal, just call and let me know. Call my personal, though, you'll get through faster. We look out for our own here, so if things start getting bad, or if you need me to send someone down to sit with you, or you just need to talk, feel free to call."

Julian didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure how to convey that he appreciated the message; that he took each word to heart and that hearing someone say something like that made him feel lighter than he had in ages, so he just said earnestly, "Of course, thank you, sir, I'll keep you posted."

"You do that, Julian. Feel better." And then the line went dead, and he hung the phone on the hook with numb fingers. Somehow, hearing a friendly voice had made him feel better, if only a little, and he almost wished he hadn't hung up the phone, because the silence in his apartment felt like it could kill him if it got any thicker.

*********

He didn't move for a long time, trying to piece himself together in his mind, and when he did it was because Detective had slunk into the room, her tail low to the ground, and she sat herself in the way of the front door, staring up expectantly, head tilted, ears pricked, eyes wide and patient and warm. He couldn't stand to watch her wait, and turned quickly away, back to his room, where the light was grey and the air wasn't so suffocating.

He tugged his shirt off, and fell into bed with a sigh, almost moaning at the coolness of the sheets against his bare skin. He felt goosebumps on his arms and a chill ran down his back and he felt so tired suddenly that he was sure if he fell asleep he wouldn't get up again for hours, but before he had even closed his eyes he was jarred back awake by a knock at his door. He sat up, listening close, and hoped he had misheard. Singh had said he would come by, but surely he couldn't get there so fast--it had to have only been half an hour since he had gotten off the phone with him.

But, there it was, another knock, and Julian climbed out of bed with a groan, moving to his dresser and pulling a sweatshirt out of the top drawer, hoping he didn't mess his hair up astronomically when he wrestled it over his head. He slipped a pair of socks over his feet, and moved out into the hall and then to the living room, where Detective was on high alert at the door, sitting ramrod straight and staring hard, eyes locked. Julian felt a twinge in his chest, and gently nudged her aside with his foot. She passed him a glance, seemed to read from the pain in his eyes that it wasn't Emma, and slunk off to hunker under his favorite chair in the kitchen, though she was still looking at the door, as if she didn't know whether she could trust him.

"You're an idiot." He sighed under his breath, almost hating her for hoping, and flicked the locks open so that he could swing the door wide, trying his best to smile for his boss, prove that at least in some ways he could keep himself together. But it wasn't his boss, and his smile froze on his face as his eyes locked with Barry Allen's.

"Not really sure what I did to deserve that one, but I'll ignore it because you're sick. Now, I brought chicken noodle soup and hot tea from Jitters, although I did spill some in the elevator on the way up." Barry said quickly, talking so fast and so anxiously that Julian almsot didn't catch what he was saying.

"Sorry?"

"You're forgiven." Barry said, looking strangely at him.

"Forgiven?" Julian asked, sure he had missed something.

"For calling me an idiot?" Barry clarified slowly, his eyebrows tugging together as his face creased in confusion.

"Oh." Julian said, realization dawning, "I didn't mean you, I was talking to the cat. I, uh...sorry, what are you doing here, exactly?"

"Oh, Singh sent me. I thought he'd warned you; he thinks you're dying or something, so he sent me to play nurse for a little bit."

"What about your reports?" Julian asked, feeling suddenly very self-conscious. He hadn't ever had anyone in his apartment before, and it suddenly felt very intimate.

Barry didn't seem to notice his discomfort, and stepped around him with a shrug, walking into the kitchen like he had been there a million times, and set the plastic container of soup and the cup of tea on the table. He looked around for a moment, taking everything in, and nodded to himself distractedly before he said over his shoulder, "I brought them along. I brought yours too; I figured you'd be panicking about not going in, so I thought being able to work on them might make you feel a little better. You don't have to do them, of course, it was just an idea."

Looking at him, so anxious and eager to please, a half-smile on his face, almost made Julian forget that he was the reason for his near-relapse in the first place, but not quite. He couldn't erase the sting of what Allen had said no matter how nice he was trying to be; not when he could still feel them rattling around in his head, so loud he had to close his eyes to center himself and force them down. When he opened them again, Allen was still staring at him, although his smile was gone and he looked somehow confused, asking slowly, "Am I interrupting something? You don't have your girlfriend here, do you?"

"What girlfriend?" Julian asked, bewildered.

"The one you told me about a month ago? You know; couldn't go to a film because you were seeing your girlfriend?" Allen asked slowly, eyebrows raising into arches over his eyes, some sort of challenge in them that Julian couldn't decipher. He couldn't remember anything about a girlfriend, and finally Barry snorted and said, gesturing at him, "Look, you don't have to lie to me if you're having a lie-in with your girl. I'm not going to tell Singh, but, honestly, I'm not an idiot. You're clearly in the middle of something, if you want me to go just say so."

"I don't know what you're--" He looked down at himself and frowned, wondering what Allen meant, and what he was gesturing at, and the bottom dropped abruptly out from his stomach. Oh, God. Oh, God, he was wearing his sisters sweater. It was one of five that he had gotten to keep after she died, and he only let himself get them out when he desperately needed to talk to her. Having something of hers around always made her feel closer to him, but seeing it without warning only made it hard to breathe. He hadn't noticed--he thought he was wearing his old university sweatshirt, but he wasn't. It was pale pink and had her sorority logo stamped on the front with a cartoon of a girl smiling and waving a flag about feminism on the back. It was Emma's, and it suddenly felt too tight.

"Julian?"

"Just--give me a minute." He said, though the coffee-straw sized opening that was his throat.

"Julian!"

He didn't wait, or answer, and turned quickly away, walking at top speed to his bedroom, where he ripped the shirt off his body and shoved it quickly back where he had gotten it, refusing to look at it for another second before he wrenched open another drawer and picked out a new sweater, this time knowing for certain it was his. He took much longer than necessary to put it on and re-enter the kitchen, but he had to do something to stop himslef from crying in front of another person he worked with--Barry Allen, of all people--and had to take a moment to regulate his breathing and press the heels of his hands against his eyes, willing the tears forming to evaporate. He could do this. He could pretend he was okay for an hour; that nothing was wrong, that he hadn't heard what Barry had said about him, that it hadn't unlocked memories he had spent a year trying to forget, that he hadn't come so close to hurting himself that he could feel his scars tingling with the need to add more to his collection. He could pretend to be alright in front of Barry Allen--he had practice with that.

So he took a deep breath, and walked back into the kitchen, ready to face whatever was about to come.

 

 

 

 


	4. The Detective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry thinks maybe they can get along after all, but discovers more about Julian than he means to when he is offered to stay for lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment. I love reading feedback. It is my life source.

  
Barry stood perfectly still for a moment after Julian retreated into the room at the end of the hall. It was odd, the way he was behaving, but Barry figured that maybe he really was sick. He wasn't sure what to do with himself now that he was left alone in the mans apartment, and he rocked on his heels a moment, trying not to make too much noise. He had the odd idea that he was meant to stay; he hadn't been asked to leave, after all. Feeling ridiculous standing alone in the cramped kitchen space, Barry wandered back into the sitting room.

The apartment opened into it, and Barry was struck with how lived-in it seemed. He had expected something crisp and impersonal, much like it's owners personality, but it was soft and sentimental, and Barry couldn't stop himself from stepping further into the room to look around, suddenly quite curious. Julians keys were on a hook by the door, his shoes were kicked under an arm chair, the pale blue curtains were open, a box near the window was overflowing with cat toys, and there was a throw blanket over the back of his couch that was covered in pet hair. It made him feel warm, surveying the area, and he let himself take it all in until Julian said quietly from the hall, startling him, "You were expecting something more clinical weren't you?"

Barry jolted back to his feet, startling the cat badly enough that it shot off and hunkered under the same chair Julians shoes were beneath. His heart did a subtle skip, and he said, feeling as though he had been caught doing something highly inappropriate, "Sorry, I--You scared the shit out of me."

"Apologies." Julian said, and Barry couldn't tell if he imagined the little upwards quirk in his lips or not. He was tempted to roll his eyes and dismiss it, but when he turned to look at Julian completely, he felt an odd stirring in his chest. Julian had pulled on a new sweater, this one pale blue and worn. The ends of his sleeves were frayed where he had fiddled with them too much. Barry couldn't help but stare. It was an unsettling thing; seeing Julian without all his hard edges on display.

Julian cleared his throat and he realized he was staring, so Barry coughed awkwardly into his hand and then patted his bag, asking, "Should we get to work?"

He was expecting a sneer, or to be thrown out on his ear, but Julian just gave him a tight smile and looked at him with eyes that were glassy with disinterest, saying with a practiced politeness, "Make yourself comfortable wherever you like you like, I'll grab us some pens."

Barry tried not to look surprised and quickly kicked off his shoes when Julian ducked back into the kitchen. He carried them to the door and put them neatly beside another pair of Julians, then moved into the sitting room and folded himself onto the couch, trying to make it appear that he didn't feel distinctly out of place. Julian was back before he could reflect on it much, and he found himself offering, just to find something to say, "Do you want to just split everything down the middle? Or I can put everything in a pile and we can just pick a new one up every time we finish one?"

Julian frowned, appearing to think over his options, as though he wasn't quite comfortable with their situation either, so Barry suggested quickly, "If we split everything we can race to see who gets finished faster."

"Yes, because what your penmanship needs is to be made messier by rushing." Julian snorted, and Barry was surprised to find that just the quick little jibe had landed them somewhere familiar; somewhere easier to navigate. He could work with friendly antagonism.

A few more teasing comments, lighter than they had ever been before, had them both sitting comfortable over paperwork. It was easy and he felt strangely at ease as he let himself melt into the couch. Julian took the second armchair in the room, since his cat had moved up to sit in the other. Barry made a joke an hour into their quiet session about how he couldn't believe that none of Julians furniture matched, and Julian didn't do much more than snort before he redirected his gaze to the paperwork he'd spread across the coffee table.

Soon, they didn't talk at all, and Barry found himself enjoying the fact that he was doing his work at a regular pace, rather than using his powers to speed through it like he normally would every time Julian looked away. Taking it slow put his mind at ease, strangely, and Julian seemed just as comfortable as he did; eventually tucking his legs up beneath him and pulling a blanket off the back of his chair to rest over his shoulders.

Another two hours in and Barry felt a soft nudge at his elbow. For a second he thought it was Julian, and that he had approached without being noticed, since barry had found himself sucked into a report that was in his lap, but he turned to instead find the sleek black cat beside him, waiting patiently for his attention, head cocked, yellow eyes expectant. He stacked his papers together and moved them onto an open space on the coffee table to give the cat his proper attention. Julian noticed, and watched him for a moment as he stroked between the cats ears.

"I didn't really see you as a cat person." Barry admitted as he moved his hand to stroke indulgently beneath the cats chin, wondering why he hadn't ever thought of getting a cat himself. "What's his name?"

Julian gave him one of his forced smiles, and said stiffly, "Her name is Detective, and she wasn't always mine. She was Emma's, but my parents didn't want her after the funeral, so I took her in."

Barry winced, realizing he had touched an invisible wound, and said quickly, doing his best to convey sincerity, "Im sorry, I didn't mean to--"

"No, you can't have known. It's fine. I'm fine. Really." Julian said quickly, and his face softened slightly. Barry nearly sighed in relief. The pain that had flickered in his eyes had seemed too raw to be dismissed for a half moment, but perhaps he had imagined it. Julian glanced to the kitchen and said, a small smile forming on his face, "I've got her treats in the kitchen, I've been teaching her tricks on my days off. You can give her one, if you like."

Barry wasn't expecting such an offer, but eagerly found himself nodding to the offer, wondering if perhaps he had managed, in a few short hours, to break through Julians hard shell and get to the man beneath it.

Julian moved off the chair and into the kitchen, and Barry kept petting the cat as the sound of bags and containers being rifled through filled the silence. He appeared again seconds later with a plastic bag that had a fish printed on the front, and a picture of a ginger cat staring intently at it. Julian handed the bag over and took the cushion beside Barry's on the couch, the closeness feeling oddly intimate. He ignored it, though, because Julian was smiling softly at him, and was saying in an embarrassed manner, "Your hands may smell like fish after, fair warning."  
  
"It's fine." Barry grinned back, and popped open the tab at the top of the bag to dig a soft treat out, asking, "What do I do?"

"Hold it up a little above her head--not that high, she has to be able to see it--and slowly move it down to the height of her nose. She should sit if you do it properly."

It took two tries before she finally did it, and Barry couldn't help complimenting her avidly once she managed it. He glanced at Julian for his reaction, expecting to be laughed at for his childish excitement over a cat learning to sit, but Julian was staring at his cat in an immensely proud sort of way, so Barry turned back to her again, trying different tricks Julian instructed him about. She didn't manage all of them, but Barry was impressed either way.

He was surprised by the idea that he was actually having quite a nice time, and almost told Julian as much when they were interrupted by the buzz of Julians mobile phone on the table. Barry hadn't realized he had ever gotten it out, and Julian seemed to have forgotten, because he jumped the slightest amount before reaching across the table to pick it up. He rolled his eyes once the screen lit up, and explained, standing, "I forgot I set my alarm for when we take lunch breaks at work."

Barry stood as well, thinking that perhaps that was a cue he had overstayed his welcome, but Julian didn't seem to notice he had moved, and instead said, "If you're going to stay, I can put something on the stove?"

"You don't have to cook for me, you're the one sick." Barry said, although he was certain that what he meant to say was 'thank you'.

"I feel better when I'm cooking." Julian shrugged, "We can take a break from reports, you can watch the telly or play with the cat while I make lunch."

Barry put his hand to his chest dramatically, although he truly was stunned and it didn't feel like much of an overreaction as he asked, "Watch television? You must be sick if you just told me to take a break and watch TV."

Julian was already heading to the kitchen, but smiled over his shoulder to say, "I won't tell if you won't."

Barrys heart stuttered, struck by the softness in the look he received, and he lowered himself back onto the couch, his hand automatically reaching out for the cat, who felt like velvet under his fingertips. He could hear pots being moved and the tap running, and the occasional opening and closing of a cabinet or a container, but it still felt oddly silent compared to when Julian had been explaining how to make his cat play dead (one of the tricks that she wouldn't do for them). After another few seconds of silence, Barry called towards the kitchen, "You know, if I knew you would cook for me I would have started coming around a lot sooner."

"Yeah? You'll have to come by next week; I'll pick ingredients up from the store to make cookies."

"It's a date." Barry answered automatically, and immediately wanted to punch himself in the face for it. He didn't have the foggiest where that had come from. Why did he say that? There was a break in the sound that came from the kitchen, and it started again slowly, as if he was trying to be cautious and unheard. Barry blamed his lapse in judgement on the damn delicious smells that were coming from the kitchen, and tried not to imagine what else could have accounted for his misplaced comment. Certainly not interest in an actual date.

He didn't speak up again for fear of sticking another foot in his mouth, and tried to orchestrate his next words very carefully, finally asking, when he was sure it had been enough time to get them back into a sense of normalcy, "Hey, uh, do you mind if I use your bathroom? I should wash my hands after handling cat treats."   
  
"It's the first door on the right, just down that hall." Julian answered almost absently, and Barry wondered if maybe he hadn't made as much of an idiot of himself as he feared he had.

"Thanks." Barry said, and headed that way, ducking in quickly and wondering how he could maintain the feeling of comfortability that they had bridged before. Sighing, he glanced into the mirror to see if his blush was as hot as it felt. HE determined he was back to a relatively normal shade when something blue caught his eye on the glass. There was a blue square of paper against the mirror, and when he squinted, Barry saw that it was labelled in loopy scrawl, 'Days Clean' with a little smiley face and occasional notes scribbled beside a mess of tallies.

His chest felt as though it had imploded, and he saw without meaning to that there were at least ten other notes pinned to the wall as well, all with the same rows and rows of tallies, though they were occasionally broken up by words of encouragement scribbled in between lines. he didn't know what to think at first, his head was swimming, his heart burned like it was made of something acidic, and he looked down instinctively, knowing he had stumbled upon something far too personal for him to be seeing. But then his eyes caught something else.

Something small and slick and silver and shiny. There was a razor in the sink glinting maliciously up at him. Barrys stomach curled at the idea that Julian could be hurting himself, and his lungs sank into his stomach as he was hit with the thought that Julian wasn't sick at all. He had relapsed; he had done something to hurt himself, and nobody had noticed. For all Barry knew, he could have stayed home with a plan to do just that--maybe something worse. God, what if Julian had been planning to do something permanent? It would explain his odd behavior when Barry had first shown up at his door. It explained why Singh had insisted that one of them go to his apartment and check up on him. Had he been making an attempt when Barry had come to the door? The thought made bile rise in his throat. How could he not have noticed something was wrong?

The thought hit him that he could have been at fault, and something cold and clammy spilled into his veins. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was making assumptions. He cold read the clearest messages incorrectly if he didn't have a level head, and after all...he didn't really have any proof, did he? Maybe Julian was a recovering alcoholic?

Whatever it was, Barry wasn't meant to know about it, so he forced himself to calm his breathing and shoved his hands under the faucet, tacky with soap as he scrubbed out what trace he could from the cat treats.

He left the bathroom slowly, trying to act normal, and was hit with a sudden, sharp urge to ask, "You don't care if I watch, do you? It's odd having to yell to talk to you."

"I don't mind, no, just don't mess anything up. I mean that, Allen."

Barry entered the kitchen and was, once again, struck by how domestic Julian seemed. He didn't look like a man that had anything going wrong in his life. He didn't look like the sort of man who would take out his frustrations on his own body.

But have you ever seen him in short sleeves?

He ignored the thought, shoving it deep into his mind with a violent spark of anger. He'd just have to get Julian to expose his wrists enough to see if there was something wrong. He was too smart to be tricked into talking about it, and Barry knew better than to ask, so he hovered as close as was acceptable to Julians elbow and watched as he chopped parsley expertly, tossing it into a simmering pot of homemade alfredo sauce.

He was nearly finished after a few minutes, and his baggy sleeves weren't so much as rolled up, so Barry hinted, trying to mask anxious curiosity with casual conversation, "Man, it's hot in here. How do you stand it? You've got to be burning up."

"I'm fine." Julian answered, with a slight change in his voice as one hand automatically clamped on his wrist over the sweatshirt. So he did have a history of hurting himself, if he was so quick to hide it. But, had he been doing it recently? Barry had to know, but he would be patient. He had the vague thought that it was wrong to try and trick him into revealing it, but he didn't know what else he could do. If he had to take the invasive route to make sure his frien--his coworker--was okay, then he would do it. He just wanted him to be safe. And it didn't have a thing to do with guilt.


End file.
